Burning Secret
by Rothelena
Summary: Teresa Lisbon isn't the least bit jealous of Loralei Martins. Of course not. So why does the fact that Jane doesn't want her in the investigation makes her feel so- discarded and vulnerable? Might have a teeny-weeny thingy to do with the first spoiler I read, so if you TOTALLY avoid those... Rated M! Solely Lisbon's point of view!


_The ending isn't quite as light as what you might be used to from me, but it's decidedly hopeful! There are stories that don't support a sappy, perfect ending, and this is one of them._

_As to the spoiler-question: remember that production-sheet that showed up on twitter and everywhere else by now- and what it revealed? That might have influenced my decisions in this story, although what it says on the sheet is not happening here (yet) and I don't name the spoiler… but the actions here clearly relate to it. So if you plan to stay 1000% spoiler-free…maybe don't read this (although there are no actual spoilers in here!). _

_This is for MerriWyllow, who said I should damn well write a story from Lisbon's point of view- this is completely told through Lisbon's eyes._

_I have a bad conscience for not providing absolute happiness in the end, but I hope you understand- and maybe like it anyway._

_Disclaimer: I don't own The Mentalist, and I don't make money from fan fiction. _

**Burning Secret**

It felt like a cold fist of dread, slowly stretching its fingers deep inside her. Teresa Lisbon leaned back and watched the sensation, swallowing drily when the urge to cry became noticeable.

It had been stifling hot all day, the air heavy and humid enough to make breathing a luxury, and even now, well past sundown, she had the feeling that her clothes stuck to her frame. This constant, burning need to bawl her eyes out like a baby made everything worse.

She had no idea what was the matter with her these days, but she was sure it couldn't get any better until Loralei had been dealt with. Which, in regards to the slow progress being made with Red John's minion, might take a while.

Lisbon almost groaned, but caught the sound at the last moment. She couldn't lose her cool now, couldn't allow her stupid feelings to interfere.

Jane spent almost every day interviewing Loralei, which pretty much doubled the team's everyday workload… without Jane's skills, fighting crime took a lot more time, she had long ago accepted it.

Jane had forbidden her to participate in the investigation around Loralei. Sternly. She had felt patronized and had leashed out several times, but Jane hadn't changed his mind. They had hardly talked to each other these past days, too much to do, too much distance because they worked different cases.

When she left her office around midnight every day, Jane still was nowhere to be seen.

She wasn't jealous. Of course not. She wasn't a woman who had time for petty emotions like that, and Jane had never been hers to begin with.

Her fingertips tingled in sudden longing, highly improper, and Lisbon felt the need to move, to escape, use her muscles until she ran out of breath. She got up and started pacing, her body feeling heavy and exhausted and restless all at the same time.

She wasn't jealous. Wasn't.

Her eyelids sank down for a moment, and she wished she were a little girl again, allowed to cry and rant and show all the weakness she wanted to. Wanted her mother back who had never thought her feelings to be petty or childish.

The only human being who had protected her against the unfairness of it all. After her death, little Teresa had become the protector herself.

She sighed. Fate couldn't be changed, couldn't even be challenged. She led CBI's most successful unit, and she wouldn't falter.

She sat down again, behind her pile of paperwork, shielding her against real life like a mile-high wall.

She tried not to think about Patrick Jane, really. Because she couldn't face the mess that was frothing inside her since she… since they had gotten him back.

Sometimes at night, she closed her eyes and wished Loralei gone. Wished that the night between her and Jane had never happened. That he didn't need to do what he wanted to keep a secret from her. That those damn interviews wouldn't be standing between them like… this wall of paper between her and all the normal people who had a private life and friends and fell in love with un-obsessed, responsible men who…

She winced and shook her head, exasperated with herself. She wasn't in love, and she wasn't jealous. But she wasn't doing her job either, not the way it deserved to be done, and that had to change.

Her thoughts were unprofessional and dangerous to the Red John case, she could never forget this. It was paramount to solve their most difficult, nerve wracking murders of all time, to grant the numerous victims justice, to give Jane a semblance of peace of mind, and she could swallow her pride for that.

So she would stay calm and professional and effective. She would not think about Patrick Jane, period.

She leaned back in her chair and stretched her body like a cat, trying to loosen stiff muscles and cramping limbs. Not her day, definitely.

She'd just released the "let's face reality and get it done with"-sigh her team knew so well and picked up her pen, when the door opened.

Grace van Pelt, looking every bit as overheated as Lisbon felt, flopped down on the chair in front of her desk.

Lisbon smiled at her.

"Hey, van Pelt," she drawled, "the heat is a bitch, huh?"

"Damn right, boss," Grace chuckled, wiping her forehead with her fingertips, "that's why the team decided to call it a day. We solved the case, almost without Jane's help, so what do you say… let's celebrate?"

"Absolutely," Lisbon nodded, "you're dismissed for the night. Well done, Grace, all of you- you deserve a time-out."

She gave another dismissive nod, but Grace lingered, picking at threads in her pants, searching for more words. Lisbon smiled encouragingly.

"Something else?"

"Well…" Grace started, "boss- we thought that maybe you would like to join us for a beer or so. It's been a while since you had a drink with us, and we… well, frankly, we all miss it. You know times haven't been easy and- it would simply be nice to- regain this… companionship. Don't you think?"

Lisbon inhaled sharply.

No, she couldn't do this, no matter how vital Grace's point might be. She felt as antisocial as they came at the moment, raw and unhappy with all those feelings swirling inside her, alien and unwelcome, she couldn't be a friend, a comrade now. The thought of a whole evening of small talk and friendly conversation made her skin crawl.

"I'm sorry, Grace," she said slowly, looking down to hide the sudden bout of guilt that had to be clearly visible on her face, "but you know, even without Jane's help there's a lot of paperwork, so I really need to stay here. Maybe another time, okay?"

Grace nodded, but her disappointment was undeniable. Ouch.

"I understand," she sighed, "well… have a good night, then, okay, boss?"

"You too, Grace," Lisbon answered, "Give the boys a pat on the back for me, yes? Your performance has been outstanding again, I'm proud."

Grace nodded and left the office, and suddenly, the loneliness seemed to stifle Lisbon, the stale air tasting like bile on her tongue. She hadn't realized that she was awfully hungry, and since the team somehow felt divided without Jane present all day, closed case pizza had become somewhat of a neglected tradition lately. How sad that everything seemed connected to Jane.

He'd become like a lifeline, everyone's indicator that things were right, and Lisbon didn't like it one bit. How had he taken over center stage in her life that easily?

Maybe because she was… pretty sad when he wasn't around?

No- she tried to laugh the thought away, but it refused to vanish. She wasn't jealous, dammit.

Loralei would provide the information they needed to make progress in the Red John case, and no matter what Jane needed to do or say to make her talk, it would be worthwhile in the end. He wasn't hers, had never been hers. He'd given everything for this case and… dammit, how ridiculous was the thought that he could ever…

She got up in another fit of restlessness and walked to the little washbasin in the corner, briskly starting the cold water to let it run over her wrists, cooling the pulse points.

She almost reluctantly looked up, staring at her reflection in the mirror. She looked tired, and she had become completely indifferent to the way she looked, the kind of woman she was lately. Was she pretty? Was there anything even mildly interesting in her face? An attractiveness to her slim, muscular, but undoubtedly female frame?

She snorted and stopped the water.

Heavens, she was a COP, a crime fighter with a gun, law enforcement to the bones. Who gave a damn if she was sexy? She wasn't a freaking siren. Not like…

She swallowed, closing her eyes in pain. Whenever she spoke that darn woman's name in her mind, the images followed.

How had it been like to kiss him? Touch him everywhere? How did his skin feel, had it been cool or hot or damp with sweat, how did his breathing sound when he was aroused, which noises did he make when he was about to…

She gritted her teeth and stopped the train of thought violently, but it was already too late, a myriad of feelings crashed into her clenching heart, paralyzing her for a second, the distress so sharp she released a tiny, desperate whimper.

To hell with Loralei.

Lisbon ignored the tremble that ran all over her body, showing a weakness she couldn't allow, a crack in her carefully crafted armor.

She was cool, she was professional, she was Teresa Lisbon. Exhaling slowly, she got a grip just when Cho stormed into her office.

He looked at her with his usual, utterly calm stare, focused, concentrated and no-nonsense.

"Boss," he said matter-of-factly, "your presence is needed for boosting team morale. Those have been pretty down lately. I take it you don't need your jacket?"

Lisbon was indecisive for a moment, before she relented with a sigh. What the hey. She could well spend the rest of the already late evening with her team, the people still at her side after Jane had run off to do the obviously evil things he did to make Loralei talk.

She just hoped they didn't have sex in her interrogation room, or she would… dammit, why couldn't she stop thinking hurtful thoughts? Why was she intent to suffer? Had she gone insane?

"Fine," she shrugged, "let me get my purse."

She followed Cho out of the darkened building, and felt almost relieved to leave this mausoleum of corpses and crime for a few precious hours of fresh air. It felt more like home than her apartment did, but it also reminded her of the things she had lost, the dreams she had buried. And, of course, the things she would never have- things outside this bastion of the law, things belonging to a life that had never been hers to covet.

The little pub her team always went to for after-hours socializing was bustling with the working crowd who gathered here in the evenings, and Lisbon instantly regretted her decision when her gaze fell on the distinctively beautiful blond guy who was chuckling at one of Grace's remarks.

Oh no. She looked at Cho, her eyes undoubtedly as wide as saucers, but he just shrugged noncommittally.

"He could make it." He said and walked over to the table.

God, no. She definitely couldn't spend this evening in a room with Patrick Jane, no way. She… it wasn't possible, she needed to find some kind of excuse, a last minute occurrence, something that needed to be dealt with right now…

Jane turned and faced her, and every thought in her mind stopped. Oh my god. She was jealous. Like hell, anger squeezing her insides as if it wanted to wring every drop of blood from it, a desperation she'd hardly ever felt before. She was the team leader of CBI's favorite team, and she had chosen this time to act like a freaking WOMAN.

She was jealous. The feeling spread inside her like a vile poison, and her fingers itched to scratch her rival's eyes out, teach this evil bitch not to play with HER… heavens, she needed to get out of here, FAST! Her knees felt weak, and what was almost worse, when she looked into Jane's eyes she realized that he knew, again, far too much about her.

His gaze held a regretful sadness, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking, saw through every single feeling and just couldn't do anything to make it stop. Her heart relaxed, softened, and she hated herself for this weakness, this warmth she felt spreading whenever he was close, when in fact he had abandoned their team for this man-eating mermaid, had let them struggle on their own all week.

Well, there she went with the unprofessionalism again.

"Lisbon," Jane said slowly, extending his hand in invitation, "come, join us."

His voice was gentle, smooth, beloved.

She walked over on wobbly legs and flopped down on the next available chair, which was (just her luck) the one next to him.

He smiled benevolently, and there was some relief in his eyes, as if he realized full well what it had cost her not to storm out of the pub the minute she saw him.

He effortlessly resumed his conversation with Grace and Rigsby, skillfully including Cho. She was grateful that he gave her some time to gather her wits, for she was pretty sure she was out of words for the moment.

"You know," Jane said, "I would like to invite you all for dinner, I bet you didn't get anything substantial tonight, did you?"

Lisbon's stomach growled in fierce agreement and she blushed just as fiercely. She hoped the sound was drowned by Rigsby's loud exclamations of joy.

Jane waved to the waiter, who took their orders. When it was her turn, Lisbon just shook her head.

"Nothing for me."

Jane looked at her like a loving father would at his unreasonable daughter, and she realized that she in fact acted utterly childish. She sighed. Damn reason. She just wanted to curl into a corner and pout her face off.

"Okay, okay," she growled, "I'll take the Chili."

"The same for me," Jane said, beaming at the waiter, "thank you, Ben!"

When the waiter was gone, conversation resumed, and Lisbon made a huge effort to look relaxed and sociable. She forced some smiles and made some remarks, laughed at the jokes and answered questions, all the time trying not to stare at Jane as if she hadn't seen him for a year. Why did it feel that way? Why was this longing so strong, when she knew full well it couldn't lead anywhere?

Would he have slept with Loralei if he wanted his orderly, slightly boring superior instead?

Yes, she thought, almost flinching with the realization. He would possibly sell her on the slave market if it meant catching Red John.

But he wouldn't spend almost a decade solving cases next to her hardly trying to touch her if he had any kind of romantic interest in her, would he? Sure he would. Who could say what happened inside Jane's marvelous, slightly scary mind?

Damn, what was she thinking? Her throat felt as dry as cotton, and she took a huge gulp of air to regain her ability to speak.

He didn't want her. That was a fact, was what she had to deal with, and she had to put on her big girl panties and move on. So she had this ill-infatuated crush on her highly irreverent consultant, who might or might not cultivate his mutual or not attraction with the sexy sidekick of Sacramento's most wanted serial killer. She could snap out of this, couldn't she?

But whenever Jane looked at her, her insides seemed to tremble as if he'd tickled her, her skin carrying her longing like an unnerving prickle of awareness. Would she die feeling like this? Next week with a bullet in her head, or in fifty years in a retirement home, still madly in love with Patrick Jane, her last thoughts just for him, no matter where he was by then?

Suddenly, the urge to touch him was so strong she could hardly fight it any longer, she wanted to brush her fingers through his hair, let them slide over his pale lips, before she let them…

She swallowed. She had to stop this, she thought sadly. Once and for all.

The Chili was perfect, hot and spicy, filling her empty stomach until she felt almost comfortable, a warm sleepiness setting in.

Everyone around her seemed to laugh and chat and have a good time, but she was content to just vanish into the background, to not be a vital part of it all. She'd had one beer and decided to leave it at that, she wasn't tipsy yet and that was fine, no need to lose any more of her cool.

She was so lost in her thoughts that she missed when her colleagues said their goodbyes one by one, and when she finally came back to reality, she was the only one still sitting there. Her. And Patrick Jane.

She raised her eyes to his, considerable dread squeezing at her heart, and found him looking at her patiently, somewhat expectantly, as if he had waited for her to spill her mind all night. But his gaze held the knowledge of everything she was feeling, she didn't have to say a word. Jane looked into her cards with just a single glimpse into her soul, effortlessly caught between one dram of beer and the next.

His perceptiveness was inherent to him, and she had never entertained the illusion that she could escape it. His magic inner eye that could read her like a book.

"Why can't you just ignore her, Lisbon?" he said eventually, "Pretend she doesn't exist?"

"Why can't you let me participate in solving my most important case?" she growled.

He hesitated for a moment, staring into his almost empty glass.

"Lisbon," he said softly "in order to crack Loralei, I have to lie. I have to say and do things that would hurt you. And I can't do those things if I have the feeling that you might be listening in. Can't you understand that I'm trying to protect you…"

There was more, but her snort interrupted him.

"Don't protect me, Jane!" she hissed, "I'm no sentimental baby, I'm your boss, dammit! You have no right to treat me like an imbecile who doesn't know how to do her job."

"That's not it," Jane sighed, leaning closer, blowing sweet breath into her face, so sweet despite the beer he had drunk, "you're more than my boss, and you know it. You're my friend, and I would never want you hurt by what I do."

Too late, she thought bitterly.

When she looked at him again she saw something else in his face, a hint of sadness and utter exhaustion, as if he were fed up with himself, sick of being Patrick Jane and act the part. His eyes became dark and moist.

Part of her wanted to stay aloof, untouched, but the bigger part simply wanted to hold him until the sadness faded away, let him sleep inside her embrace, sing for him until he sank into a restful slumber.

"Your mistrust hurts me, Jane," she said firmly, when she didn't feel firm at all, "I thought we were beyond that."

To her surprise, he just nodded.

"I know," he sighed, "Lisbon, I promise that I won't keep the things I learn from Loralei to myself- not a single scrap of information. I will tell you everything she reveals about Red John… but you can never know how I obtain that information. I can't make her talk when I know that you're listening."

Lisbon felt lonely and needy and unimportant. Shut out. Betrayed. Nothing of this was new. But somehow, the cut went deeper this time. She was scared. For both their sanity. For the friendship between them, or what her silly heart wanted from him.

She couldn't protect herself against him, for she was already in far too deep.

She shrugged in a helpless attempt to play this cool. But her cop mode was lost for the night, and she felt her shoulders sag slightly.

Jane put his hands on the table, a sudden restlessness coursing through him much like the urgent need to move she had felt lately. He wanted to escape, flee the situation, and she was only too willing to let him. Who knew when she would see him again, she thought with a dreadful misery squeezing at her heart.

He wouldn't be around until he had drained Loralei for every ounce of information he could get out of her.

"We should call it a night," he said, "I guess you have your car close to get you home? Drive safe, Lisbon. See you in the morning."

Which was a lie, and she knew it. Jane would be at the FBI in the morning, and she would be in her office, ready to soldier on.

She nodded at him, and he left so fast he almost left a cloud of dust in his wake. She couldn't help feeling like a nuisance, as if everyone couldn't get away from her fast enough, leaving her all alone at the cluttered table.

Lisbon groaned. Maybe she just needed a good night's sleep.

But when she got into her car, the smooth leather seat pleasantly cool beneath her fevered body, she realized that her apartment was the last place she wanted to be tonight.

So she turned the ignition and drove to the one place she really called home.

Xxxxxxxxxx

When she stepped out of the lift and looked into the bullpen, she saw him sitting on his couch, his face illuminated by the faint shine of the small lamp on his overcrowded desk.

He held a cup of tea in his hands and didn't seem surprised to see her. His control was back, his stance cool and relaxed, with just a hint of resignation in it. He'd fought bitterly, and now decided to accept whatever was bothering him, she could read it on his lined, beloved face.

He calmly took a sip of tea before he put the cup down on his desk.

He leaned back with the same quiet focus, looking at her.

His eyes were deep and hypnotic, luring her in like a charm. She approached until she stood directly in front of him, staring at him as if she were under his spell. Which was far too close to the truth for her liking.

He was silent for a long time.

"Why don't you do what you want, Teresa?" he finally whispered, "You think that Loralei had things that you can never have. But that doesn't have to be true. Take what you need from me. Feel free to USE me. I'd be honored, and you know it."

The temptation was so strong she almost doubled over. But she forced herself to snort derisively.

"If you honestly think that a little bit of casual sex…"

"Sex," he interrupted, "can never be casual between you and me."

She almost gasped, and suddenly, her insides seemed to dissolve into a liquid heat. Her sharp arousal wet her panties, her breathing accelerated considerably.

And wasn't it typical that she needed this kind of commitment to take the final step? Casual had never been her.

Jane took her hand and pulled her into his lap, his free hand spreading her legs so that she straddled his thighs. She felt raw and exposed and pushed both hands against his chest to stop him, but he just overruled her resistance, using a controlled strength she had never seen in him before.

"Shhh," he whispered, "whatever you want, Teresa. Do it now."

And just like that, her resistance seemed gone, and she relaxed in his arms, his hands pressing firmly against the small of her back. She lifted her hand and brushed a stray golden curl from his forehead. The soft bliss on his face was unmistakable, and she shuddered slightly, letting her fingers slide over his temple, his cheek to his lips, softly tracing their seam. He parted them on a gentle sigh and sucked one of her fingers into his hot mouth, causing a tingle she could feel down to her toes.

She pulled the finger free.

"What do you want, my dear?" he breathed, and she leaned down to kiss him.

His mouth opened for her tongue without her asking, and she pushed inside, feeling her whole universe being swallowed by his sweet taste, the heat of his kiss. She produced small, smacking sounds whenever their lips parted for a second, and the little explosion of sound made the sensations all the more real, heightening the arousal he caused when he sucked on her tongue, groaning when it made her deepen the exploration.

His hands pressed down on her back, bringing her groin into contact with his, and she felt the undeniable proof of his excitement, pushing into her abdomen. She shook like a leaf, her whole body preparing for him, getting soft and pliant for his intrusion.

"Is that what you want, Teresa?" he growled, putting his hands on her buttocks, making her rub against his massive erection. "All of me? My body as well as my heart? I haven't felt passion in nine years. Please, don't make me stop feeling it now, or I'll die from it. Do you want me, Teresa?"

She knew what he was trying to say. So he hadn't felt passion for the other one? The thought gave her a strange calm, resting like a smooth pebble inside her stomach, heavy and comforting at the same time.

She nuzzled his throat, sampling his scent at the nape of his neck, clean, hot, male. A fragrance unique to him, so heady it made her dizzy.

"Yes." She whispered, and felt his hands tighten on her hips.

He offered her his face, his eyes soft and solemn, and she couldn't resist and caressed his lips with hers once more, tender and sweet, a barely there whiff of touch that made him moan in delight. He deepened the kiss gently, pushing his tongue into her mouth with one single stroke, entering her until she was whimpering in his arms.

He was so hard, she felt the huge dimensions of his erection and involuntarily rubbed her groin against it, her own wetness for him increasing until it became thoroughly uncomfortable.

Jane broke the kiss and whispered against her lips.

"The rules still apply, love. Do whatever you want. Wipe any memory from my mind until only this remains. I'm willing. I'll assist. I want you. Please, have your way with me."

She lowered her head until her forehead rested against his and took some gulping breaths to find a modicum of cool somewhere in her muddled mind. How much was she willing to risk for this, for him? He would rule her thoughts, her life, everything she did. The love she felt for him was unlike anything she knew, and her controlled, carefully regulated existence would never be like before.

She had answered the question before the words were fully formed, her trembling hands wandering to his belt, unbuckling it with a distinct, metallic sound that made him shudder.

Everything. She would do, risk everything for him, and nothing could hurt more than what she had already done, already suffered. She was willing to change, to invent everything new for the chance to save him. Not change him, nobody could do that. But when she could evoke just an honest smile, it was enough for her.

"I love you." She whispered and pushed her hand into his fly, wrapping exploring fingers around his straining shaft, pressing her lips onto his as if she was nothing but starved for his kisses. She let his taste flood her senses, gave everything that had always stopped her up for this moment, this man. Her heart had never beat as fast, her rational mind absent, her cop attitude just a background hum. All reason gone.

She wanted him. Wanted him more than her next breath, wanted to imprint herself on his soul, give him something that would remain during whatever he had to do to make Loralei talk. She knew he would do it anyway, but maybe he wouldn't forget her kiss, what she had done to him, maybe it would change things for him deep down where nobody could see.

She slid from his lap and pushed his boxers down, just enough to make his erection spring free of its confines, and he roared with lust when she allowed her tongue to caress him, to play on his most sensitive spots until he was a writhing mass of ecstasy and need.

She sucked on the tip of his cock, so big she had to stretch her jaws as wide as possible to accommodate him, tasting clean and mind-blowing when it slid over her tongue to the confines of her throat.

She heard him gasp, felt the sharp grip of his hands on her shoulders, pushing her away until she had to release him with a bereft little noise.

"No," he whispered, "I need to spill this first time inside you, please. I want you to take it like a vow, Teresa. I love you. Let us always remember tonight. No matter what happens afterwards- let's spend this first night like a wedding night, my love, and build something bigger. Let's become more than the sum of our parts to each other. I love you. No matter what I have to do, no matter how much I have to disappoint you in the future- never doubt that."

She nodded and allowed him to pull her upright, his swift, gentle hands undressing her carefully, her shirt, the slacks, the functional underwear. Her fear returned with every inch of skin he revealed, she had always protected herself behind an iron shield of effectiveness, it felt alien to her to make herself that vulnerable. But in his eyes she read how much he understood her feelings, how far he was willing to go to make her feel safe tonight, safe with him, in his arms.

Behind his mask of playful impishness she had always seen what he had promised her all these years ago: that she could trust him. That despite his irreverent behavior, he wasn't a player, someone who toyed with the people who meant something to him.

His trust was worth its weight in diamonds.

And despite what everybody was warning her about, his loyalty towards her was flawless. He got up from the couch and started to shed his clothes, piece by piece, until he was as naked as she was. His eyes never left hers, glowing like pools of greenish silver, commanding the night so that the moon had to envy their power.

His gaze drew hers like a beacon, a touch of magic, irresistible, and her fear dissolved as fast as it had appeared.

He pushed her down onto the couch and she just sat there, staring at him as if she saw him for the first time, and in a way she did. She'd never seen him this open, honest, hiding nothing from her, keeping his promise available in his eyes, for her to decipher. To rely upon when nothing else was reliable.

In this moment she guessed what he might have to do to make Loralei talk and closed her eyes in defeat, but he was there, kneeling down between her legs, towering over her, stealing a fevered kiss from her lips, his tongue hot, insistent, licking and sucking until she became soft and pliant in his arms, accepting him without reservations.

"I love you," he whispered, "I can't change what I am, Teresa. Nobody would even have me but you, and I swore I would never love again, but you made me. You're no toy. You're no means to an end, you make me desire like no one could, and I could talk for hours and still be hard. I'm dirt, and nobody would want to love something like me. You're stronger than anyone I ever met. Don't leave me, Teresa Lisbon. Give me something I can remember when I have to become a deceiver and cheater again. I'll return, I promise, I'll never give you up. Please, love- give me something I can hold onto when I'm cold and dead inside."

He put both arms under her knees and lifted her legs so that they rested against his sides, spreading her wide, his scorching hot cock comfortably resting between her thighs, nudging the place moist and ready for him, swollen from passion and longing.

His breathing accelerated until he panted in her ear, and when he lowered his head and looked down, she did the same on instinct, holding her breath while she watched the massive head of his erection breech her core.

She felt her walls stretch for him, the view breathtaking, almost surreal, she felt the resistance of her own body and silently begged him to ignore it, overrule it, force himself inside her, so hard it hurt. She would die if she couldn't feel him, learn what it felt like to hold him so deep inside her that he melted into her, their souls fusing until nothing could come between them.

She raised her legs even higher, until her knees where almost level with his shoulders, and he put his hands under her buttocks to support her. He pushed deeper, hitting uber-sensitive, utterly responsive spots deep inside her that made her writhe, he was huge, hard, she needed more, wanted all of his heat inside her.

Her trembling body transported the message, and Jane slid into her to the hilt, driving home until she felt him hitting her womb, already clenching in the first throes of orgasm.

Her restless hands drove through his hair, fingertips dancing over his face, her lips parting into a perfect O when he pulled out almost completely, making her wish with all her might that he would return.

"I'm yours," he whispered, "will you be mine? Will you bear what I am? If you don't stop me now, I swear, I'll take you so hard that you'll never be rid of my essence again. I wanna fill you to overflowing, so that I'll know my seed will trickle down your legs all day. Do you want that, Lisbon? Be mine forever?"

She groaned, and he smiled a shaky smile, reminding her of the relationship they had built, the things they'd been through together. It was worth more than anything she had gained in her life.

She knew that he had to disappoint her, that the obstacles wouldn't disappear, that loving him would always be the biggest challenge she had to face. It changed nothing.

"Yes," she breathed, her voice firm, growling with finality.

He groaned and pushed back in, so hard her vision blurred, his rock hard length squarely hitting her cervix, a sweet, demanding almost-pain, running through her veins like liquid fire. He pressed his whole body against hers, and her frame bent easily for him, she felt muscles stretch all over, felt his hands grab her buttocks tighter to hold her still for his thrusts. His hands were wonderful, so smooth and yet so firm, strong enough to hold her whole world in this very moment.

He looked into her eyes and she knew that he was scanning for her wishes, reading them on her face as if she were screaming them into the night.

He nodded and focused, seeming to become even longer, wider and harder inside her, filling every ounce of space before his body started to move, thrusting into her so hard nothing counted but this. She pushed her arms against the couch, trying to brace herself against his massive strokes, but he made her whole frame quake every time he rammed home.

The sensations burned through her system, flooding her core until it felt as if her insides were sheer blazing fire, and she would have cried out when he picked up speed, trying to get the sound out, but her throat was closed, her whole being focused on his hard, pounding thrusts, so hard now it felt like the battering of her life.

She could hardly keep her eyes open, but it was too delicious to watch him, his usually controlled face blooming into nameless ecstasy, passion so deep it gave him an intensity that was frightening and beautiful at the same time. She sensed his strength in every thrust, her eyes fluttering shut when she felt her lower body explode, every muscle convulsing under the force of orgasm.

He thrust through her release, violently, brutally, and it felt so good her voice broke free, his lips coming down on hers to muffle her screams, while he took her over and over, his rhythm hard, unrelenting, his breath repeated jolts of air into her mouth, his taste filling her until she was crammed with love, passion, delirious pleasure, panting while sweat dampened her skin.

"I love you," he whispered, "forgive me, Teresa."

And his eyes rolled back into his head, his features contorting with mind-blowing lust, and when she felt the sharp jet of his seed deep inside her, she came again. His fingers pressed into her hips so hard he would leave his imprints, heightening the pleasure until she felt like losing consciousness, he spent endlessly inside her, spurt after spurt of semen filling her up, thin rivulets of it running over her buttocks, pooling on the leathery surface beneath her.

Still she felt him shooting more, coming violently until finally he collapsed in her arms, her legs sliding from his arms before his body pressed her into the couch's backrest, the feeling of utter breathlessness almost soothing, focusing her in the overload of pleasure. She tried to regain her senses, delicious aftershocks running through her body and over her skin, little, almost electrical jolts that made her shudder again and again.

He raised his head and looked at her, love and regret swirling in his gaze, deep satisfaction trembling on his features.

"I'm your friend," he said softly, punctuating his words with soft, small kisses, "I would have wished for you to find somebody who can make you happy, Teresa. I did all those years. I hoped you would find him and that I would finally be able to let you go. But I can't now, love. You're mine."

She shook her head.

"I don't want him- I want you."

He sighed, so much sadness in the sound she framed his face with her hands to ground him.

"I have to hurt you so much," he said, his words trembling with despair and repressed anger, directed at himself, she knew, "there will be so many tears to cry until I can bury my ghosts, Lisbon. I know you're strong- but you will suffer. Because of me."

She closed her eyes, focusing on his length deep inside of her, despite his release she still had to stretch for him, as wide as she could go.

"And I will suffer for you because I want it," she said, "don't protect me, Jane. I can bear the burden with you. I can stand the hurt, the fear, the pain. Just don't shut me out. And remember that I won't always… be as predictable as you might think I am. I'm no angel. I'm no icon. I'm human, too. I'll fight for you. And I can fight, Jane. So don't treat me like a stupid little girl."

He pressed his hips tighter against hers, strengthening a connection deeper than words.

"I don't want to hurt you. " He whispered, "But I'm a failure. No, don't deny it. I caused so much pain I should have died from all the shame piled up in my backyard. Long ago."

"I love you." She said. Just that, nothing more needed than this.

"I know." He replied, his voice almost inaudible," and believe me- it's the only thing that gives me hope."

She kissed him then, wrapped her whole body around his, skin on skin, breathing from each other until exhaustion set in, and the tiredness made her light-headed.

"Let's sleep," Jane said, reading her signals with his usual ease, "you're tired. What about my makeshift bed in the attic? But I'm afraid you have to sleep on top of me- not enough room otherwise."

"I don't mind," she answered gently, brushing her fingertips over his jaw.

He was so beautiful, almost painfully so, and her feelings still overwhelmed her. What had he done with her calm, predictable life? The fantasy of being a cop and nothing but? She sighed softly and placed a gentle kiss on his forehead.

He got up, pulling out of her in the process, and she immediately wanted him back, closing her eyes against the onslaught of fear she couldn't stop.

The future was nothing but a roaring throat, ready to swallow them blood and bones.

Damn Loralei. Damn Red John, damn him to hell and back.

They dressed in silence, but the glances he kept sending her were warm and reassuring, so much tenderness, so much honesty in his light green eyes, showing her he hadn't lied, not to her.

When they had hastily donned their clothes he grabbed her hand and led her to the lift, darkness and silence a comfortable blanket around them.

"Promise me you won't listen to my interviews with Loralei." He said when the lift doors whooshed shut.

"Jane, I can bear…"she started, but he interrupted her immediately.

"I can't, Lisbon. I can't do what I have to do when I know that you're listening. Please, let me do this. Let me get Red John. For both of us."

She looked down, not knowing if she could really promise him. But his eyes were begging her, deep and desperate, and she realized that he understood how hard it would be for her.

She nodded slowly, looking at their joined hands.

"I promise," she said.

"I love you," he whispered, pressing her hand tighter, "I won't leave again, no matter what happens. I'll always be there for you. I swear."

"Even if I fail?" she whispered.

He nodded.

"Especially if you fail."

**The End**

_I know it's not a happy peppy let's-get-married-and-make-some-babies-ending, but this pretty much dictated itself, and hey- it's a serious matter. I hope you liked it anyway! See you soon (and yes- I guess I'm heading straight into a more angsty period. But my endings will stay hopeful, I promise!)_

_I realize this is not what's gonna happen in the show ;D- I was just playing around with the options, nothing more._


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